A Petrelli Christmas Special
by Polly
Summary: It was Christmas Eve and the Petrellis were settling down for a perfect Christmas: holly, mince pies and a little accidental homicide. Well what can you expect where Peter and Nathan are involved? Lighthearted fun not to be taken seriously! COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

A Petrelli Christmas Special – Part One

Standard Disclaimer applies – I don't own them…blah, blah, blah

Author's Note:

This is a very tongue-in-cheek one-off for Christmas – not to be taken seriously under any circumstances! I'm still working on Fourteen Days and am almost ready for the next chapter but I wanted to get this out for Christmas. BTW – this is kind of set in the same AU universe as Fourteen Days but you don't need to have read it in order to read this one. I hope you guys enjoy and have a very Merry Christmas!

* * *

It was the night before Christmas – sort of. In almost every window, tiny lights twinkled and Christmas trees glittered, proudly displayed behind open curtains. Outside, the snow had begun to pepper the skyline of New York as shafts of light from streetlamps illuminated steady drifts of snow in the otherwise inky blackness.

Within the confines of the Petrelli mansion, the occupants lay snuggled in their beds, eagerly awaiting the coming of Christmas morning. Well, all except Nathan: he didn't snuggle and he wasn't particularly looking forward to the coming of Christmas morning, either. But none of that could dampen the spirits of his younger brother. Peter had attempted, urged on by an increasingly frustrated older brother, to go to bed at a reasonable time but, on finding sleep would not come easily, the young man had quietly crept back downstairs and into the kitchen, fixing himself a post-midnight snack.

As he finished off the last of his sandwich, Peter smiled thinking about the mince pies and whisky Monty and Simon had left out for Santa over the fireplace. He had tried to explain to the supervising Nathan, that whisky wasn't normally Santa's beverage of choice but he had only succeeding in getting a very dark, withering glare from his brother and had scuttled back into the shadows of the Christmas tree – Nathan hadn't turned the lights on yet, because they wasted electricity. Heidi had later discovered he simply couldn't find the bulb that had blown, nor the humility to admit it.

With the plate carefully washed and stacked away, Peter turned to switch off the light and then, picking his way slowly across the floor in the darkness, the young man headed in the direction of both the family room and the main staircase. He had insisted, whilst helping to fill his nephews' stockings and pile brightly wrapped presents under the tree, that the tree lights be kept on and their faint illumination now helped to guide his path to the room, the closer he drew.

Peter hadn't yet decided whether to go back to bed or to park himself in front of the television, wrap himself in the throw from the back of the couch and watch re-runs of his favourite old-time shows. However, in that instant the choice was taken out of his hands.

In the space of but a moment, Peter was aware of deep breathing, somewhere in the darkness ahead of him, emanating from the family room. Footsteps shuffled across the carpet and a tiny tinkling sound indicated the ornaments on the tree were moving around, no doubt being pushed by something of considerable bulk. Knowing for a fact that all family members were safely tucked away upstairs, Peter's heart began to beat fast. All at once, the noises seemed to stop, as if sensing his presence. Peter's hand shot out into the velvet darkness and, with a startled cry, he heard the whooshing of the movement of air and a thud as a large mass hit the fireplace mantle, then fell to the floor.

Peter's heart was thudding in his chest. Had he just…? He hadn't _meant _to do anything. It had simply been a reaction – his hand went out but the young man hadn't expected any of his off-and-on powers to actually work! Hesitantly, Peter crept forwards towards the fireplace, each step bringing him nearer and nearer to the bulky form lying on the floor. Step, by step, by…

"What the hell are you doing?"

Peter yelped and jumped about a foot in the air, spinning round to face the sound. There stood Nathan, arms folded across his chest and looking at him, clearly expecting an explanation.

"Well?" he demanded in a low voice. "It's the middle of the night and you're crashing around down here. You're going to wake the boys." Then he seemed to notice Peter's pale, shaky expression. "What is it?" It wasn't that he wanted to know. It was just that, inevitably these things always came back round to bite him on the ass, so it was better to get it dealt with as quickly as possible.

Peter was gesturing wildly with both hands towards the darkened end of the family room. Nathan followed his line, squinting into the night. "Over there!" Peter urged. "There was someone down here – I think they were breaking in."

Instantly and almost without thinking, Nathan had switched their positions so that he was now in front of Peter, edging carefully towards the far end of the room. He turned to Peter and hissed, "You sure?" Peter nodded.

Nathan took a deep, calming breath. "Okay," he whispered, turning slightly to get a better look at Peter. "You wait here – I'm going to get the gun." He felt Peter's restraining hand gently grasp his wrist, pulling him back. Sighing, he leaned in a little closer.

"It's just a precaution, Pete. Don't panic."

"Uh, that's not exactly what I'm worried about," Peter admitted, hesitantly. He took a step back from his brother, feeling safety in distance. In the dim lighting, he could see his older brother's eyes narrowing and his presence expanding to fill the newly created space between them.

"Peter?" he questioned, a warning in his voice. Peter gulped a little before continuing.

"Well, I didn't exactly mean it – I mean, my powers hardly _ever _work when I want to them to and it's not like I really _wanted them to_ now, but…"

Nathan held up a hand to cut off the rambling. "Peter! _What _are you talking about?"

Peter shrugged, helplessly. "I just kind of…" He trailed off and demonstrated, waving his hand across the air in a mimic of his original movement. Nathan's eyes widened in surprise for a moment before closing in despair, the signs of an encroaching migraine setting in.

"Then there was this kind of whooshing sound, then this cry and then this kind of…thud."

"Thud?"

"Yeah," Peter admitted. "Then this kind of…crack."

"Crack?" Nathan repeated, dreading the response.

Again, his little brother nodded. "I'm guessing that's where the mantelpiece came in." From beside him, he could tell that Nathan was pinching the bridge of his nose, shaking his head while his agile mind was already coming up with a suitable game-plan.

"Peter!" he remonstrated, still in hushed tones. "What were you _thinking_? This is just terrific! Attacking an intruder is one thing but how the hell are we going to explain you sending a man flying through the air without even touching him?" Peter looked down to the carpet, scuffing his toes through the thick weave.

"I didn't _mean_ it," he mumbled in a small, almost petulant voice. He hated it when Nathan yelled at him – particularly at Christmas. It wasn't _his _fault his powers wouldn't do what he wanted and seemed to have a mind of their own.

Nathan sighed again, softening his tone a little. "Well, the first thing we need to do is take a look at this intruder. He doesn't seem to be moving but be cautious all the same. We'll turn on the small lamp on the coffee table." He moved to do just that, instructing Peter to stay where he was. In retrospect of course, he should have realised that was a bad idea.

No sooner had the soft light flooded the room then Peter was kneeling over the inert figure, lying flat on its back. He blocked most of the bulky form from Nathan's view as he had knelt in front of it. "Pete!" Nathan scolded, sharply. "I told you not to move. I…" Then he seemed to notice something…odd. "Is he wearing red?" Dimly, his back still to him, Peter nodded. Nathan's brows furrowed in confusion. "Well that's a pretty dumb colour to break in to a house in. Black would be more usual."

"Uh, Nathan…?" Peter began to stammer. He turned to look at his brother and the young man's face was growing steadily paler.

Nathan took a step closer to their uninvited guest. "Is that?" he questioned. "Is that a Santa Claus outfit?" He whistled, appreciatively. "Man, I'll give him an interesting get-up, that's for sure." For his part, Peter couldn't tear his eyes off the figure lying prone in front of him: this jolly, red-suited, white-bearded and rosy-cheeked figure.

"Oh my God!" he whispered to himself. Beside the rather rotund, cheery figure, lay a large red sack, trimmed with gold and tied with a ribbon. Nathan eyed the sack appraisingly.

"He's not going to get much in there," he remarked. "I mean, the TV alone will take up half that thing and it's not going to take the strain when he lifts it." He moved to the window and opened the curtains, peering out. "Must have a van parked nearby somewhere. How'd he get in, anyway?" Wordlessly, Peter pointed to the sooty footprints leading from the chimney to their tree and the dusting of soot over the otherwise shiny black boots. Nathan followed his gaze and laughed.

"Good one, Pete." He nudged the empty sack with his foot. "At least he hasn't collected anything yet. Now, we'd better call an ambulance, I guess. We'll just try to avoid the reason why he's out cold in the first place. With any luck he's on drugs and they won't believe him any way."

However, Nathan noticed, Peter was now peering in to the sack and when he looked up again, his eyes were shining in wonder: Pure, childlike wonder. "Nathan!" he breathed. Nathan immediately felt apprehension flood through him.

"Nathan," Peter said again, his mouth forming a perfect 'o'. "It's really him!"

"Who?"

"Santa!" Peter exclaimed. "He's real – this is the _actual Santa_."

Now Nathan was truly worried. Shrinks didn't tend to work Christmas Day, but perhaps if he phoned the right contacts, opened the right chequebooks? He'd get on to that as soon as the authorities had been and gone and he had ensured Peter said as little as possible throughout the interview. But Peter had stood and eagerly raced over to him, the seemingly empty sack in his hands.

"Seriously!" he insisted, holding open the sack. "Look – _look inside_." The politician scoffed.

"It's empty, Peter. I can see that from here."

But his brother was insistent, waving the sack around in front of his face until Nathan was left with only two options: completely lose his temper with him or look in the damned sack. With a put upon, dramatic sigh, Nathan looked in the sack. He stopped. He blinked and looked up at Peter, a question in his eyes. Then he shook his head as if to clear it and looked again.

There, piled deep inside the dark sack, lay dozens and dozens of neatly wrapped gifts – some in small boxes, some in large boxes, some in bags, some wrapped loosely. There were some that looked like entire bicycles and still others that appeared to be moving about. Around the dark inners of the sack, tiny lights seemed to be twinkling, like stardust in the night.

Nathan's mouth hung open. "But this," he stammered mostly to himself, "this is not possible, this is…" He trailed off as Peter snatched the outwardly empty, weightless sack from him and peered into it again, nodding his head vigorously.

"But it IS!" he insisted in awe and amazement, dark eyes shining. "Now aren't you glad you started being nicer this year?" He stuck one hand down into the depths of the sack and started rummaging around. "There's probably one for you in here, too." He paused in his blind searching to look at his older brother appraisingly. "Course," he added, sagely, leaning in closer to his brother's ear and glancing about them to make sure they would not be overheard, "best not mention the whole Vegas thing."

Following this sagacious advice he patted a still open-mouthed and dumbfounded Nathan on the shoulder before springing away in giddy excitement leaving the politician to silently re-evaluate his entire belief system.

Which, incidentally, he seemed to do quite rapidly. Snapping out of his mental haze, Nathan suddenly stepped forward and halted Peter's dizzying movements with a vice-like grip on the back of his neck. There were possibly more gentle ways of stopping him but Nathan didn't feel inclined to use them having decided that Peter was personally responsible for shaking the entire foundations of his adult life.

Peter yelped in response and immediately froze, shooting an affronted look at his brother but nevertheless waiting to see what the elder man wanted. In answer to the unspoken question, Nathan began to explain in a deceptively calm voice:

"Shouldn't we see what's wrong with him and find a place to store him until he wakes up?"

Peter's eyes widened in concern as he gasped, "He _has_ to wake up soon! There'll be no Christmas without him!"

"From your mouth to God's ears, Peter," he heard Nathan mutter, darkly.

Ignoring his brother Peter walked back over to the still form on the floor and gently shook him by the shoulders. No response seemed to be forthcoming. Frowning a little, Peter tried again. Then he grabbed the jolly old man's wrist and waited to start counting his pulse. Any time now, he thought to himself as he proceeded to nudge him with his knee for good measure.

Beside him, Nathan stood peering down intently at the old man. "Uh, Peter?" he questioned. "Shouldn't his chest be rising up and down or something? I mean, I'm not a nurse or anything but I covered that much in kindergarten."

Peter was starting to look worried. "But I swear it was a moment ago! I'm sure it was!"

"Well, if you can feel a pulse, we might be getting somewhere," Nathan prompted, trying hard to keep his patience. Suddenly, he appeared very suspicious. Dread began to fill his heart. "You _do_ feel a pulse, right?" Peter didn't even have to shake his head before Nathan closed his eyes in dismay.

"Aw, damn it, Peter! Only _you_! Only you could wipe out a mythical figure!"

Peter's face crumpled but Nathan was too busy ranting to care. "It's just a typical day for you, isn't it Pete? Most people accidentally burn the toast or lock themselves out of the house. _You _accidentally take out saints in the middle of the night."

The elder Petrelli was finally forced to stop his raving however, when he actually took a good look at his little brother.

"My God, Nathan!" Peter was whimpering, over and over again, gripping his hair tightly in his hands and gently starting to rock back and forth on the balls of his feet. "Oh my God! I killed Santa! I killed him! What am I going to do? What am I…"

Nathan stilled him, instantly. Placing his hands squarely on his brother's shoulders, Nathan leaned down and looked him in the eye. Speaking in a very low, eerily calm voice, Nathan said: "You're not going to do anything, Peter. I'm going to make an anonymous call."

"No!" Peter interrupted, wildly. "Who's going to believe us, Nathan? I didn't mean it – honestly." Then he went back to rocking. Nathan gripped him even tighter by the shoulders and shook him, once.

"Peter – get a grip!" he commanded. Surprisingly, Peter seemed to do just that, stilling his movements and starting up at his brother with wide, slightly puzzled eyes as if he was suddenly curious as to what they were both doing, standing there in the middle of the night in dressing gowns.

Nathan blinked in mild surprise but decided not to comment – there were more pressing matters, after all. "Now," he continued, releasing Peter's arms.

"Ok – no phone call. You wait here and I'll…" He trailed off, still looking at Peter closely. After a moment's pause, he had a rethink. "On second thoughts, you'd better come with me." He took Peter's wrist without waiting for a response and started dragging the boy along behind him.

"Where are we going?" he asked, a touch uncertainly but following nonetheless.

"To get a shovel," was Nathan's curt reply. At that, Peter's heels dug sharply into the floor, causing Nathan to pull up short.

"A _what_?" Peter squeaked, the whites of his widened eyes shining like lamps in the darkness.

"Shh!" Nathan warned, waving him quiet. The politician shot a furtive glance to the top of the staircase ensuring no one had heard the ruckus from below.

"B…but Nathan," Peter was stammering, eyes flicking from his brother to the inert saintly corpse by the fireplace, all bright and red and jolly and…rigid, "we, we can't. It's _Santa_ – we just can't…" He trailed off, not even able to finish the sentence. Nathan turned to face him, head on and fixed him with one of his _You Don't Want to Know How I'm Going to Fix This_ looks. Peter was suddenly very aware of being a part of a powerful Italian family. He started to feel most uncomfortable.

"Peter," Nathan began, firmly. "If he is…who you _say_ he is – and you realise the limits of my imagination and tolerance are being tested, _beyond belief_ tonight - we cannot simply leave him there, nor can we call the authorities. When Monty and Simon come down in the morning, this is not the festive surprise I was hoping for them to discover. Now, I'm not asking you to do anything – in fact I'm ordering you _not_ to do anything – all I'm asking is that you stand quietly by and not alert my family to the fireplace homicide decorating the family room."

He paused a moment and pulled back a little, tilting Peter's chin upwards with one finger so that he was forced to meet his elder brother's look.

"Now," he continued, gently. "Do you think you can do that?"

Miserably, Peter nodded and immediately dropped his gaze back down to his feet, his hair flopping back over his crestfallen face. He truly did look the picture of misery and dejection, Nathan decided but then he had just killed Christmas so Nathan couldn't blame him for a little wallowing.

* * *

Thirty minutes later and Peter and Nathan were seated at the kitchen table. The young man didn't think his life would ever be the same again. The sight of mince pies was making him feel ill. _How _Nathan was sitting there swigging a cup of coffee was beyond him. All at once, Peter shot to his feet, ran to the front door, threw it open and dashed outside. Nathan rolled his eyes, wearily put down his coffee cup and followed his little brother outside.

In the deep, crisp snow Peter stood, hopping from one foot to the other. Nathan had had the forethought to wear slippers. Unsurprisingly, Peter had not.

"It's gone!" Peter exclaimed in dismay, eyes fixed upon the roof. Irritably, Nathan followed his gaze.

"What's gone?"

"The sleigh!" Peter explained. Nathan appeared shockingly unconcerned – it was cold, darn it, even _with_ slippers.

"All those presents," Peter continued, shaking his head miserably. "They'll never be delivered now. It's just not right – it's not fair! What are we going to do?"

"_Do_? Pete, we're not going to _do _anything!"

"But we _have _to Nathan!" Peter urged. "We're _meant_ to do this – I can tell! Everything happens for a reason – maybe we're meant to be the ones to finish the job?"

"Peter!" Nathan was more than just annoyed now. This was getting beyond a joke. "Do you have any _idea_ how crazy you sound? You don't even know where they were meant to be delivered to!"

"I'm sure I saw addresses on them," his brother cut in. Nathan glared at him.

"And do you have any idea how many thousands and thousands of people he probably has left to deliver to?"

"There were only a few dozen left," Peter argued. "I think he must have been near the end of his rounds."

"_Even so_," Nathan ground out, daring his brother to find another reason to argue with him. "Without this _sleigh_ of yours, you'd never get them delivered in time. I mean, what? Shall we hire a helicopter to whiz round the houses in the dead of night? Hope to God it's no louder than the sound of sleigh bells jingling?"

Feeling his point was sufficiently made, Nathan turned to go back inside wanting nothing more than to crawl back in to bed and put this whole ridiculous debacle behind him. Peter's final proclamation then was the last, the _very last_ thing he wanted to hear.

"But, Nathan – there are _other ways_ to fly."

He stopped dead. He turned and he looked at his brother's ever so earnest, ever so serious and ever so entreating expression.

"Oh – my – God."

That one glass of whisky just wasn't going to be enough.

* * *

Right. Thanks for reading this far. Only one chapter to go and most of it is written. As I said – this is just a one-shot. Hope you liked it! Please let me know what you think. 


	2. Chapter 2

A Petrelli Christmas Special – Part 2

Standard Disclaimer applies – don't own them.

A/N – I have NO idea if a Sat-Nav can operate away from a car. I think perhaps it can't, but please, for the sake of the season and the holiday spirit, assume that it can be and don't blame me for the inaccuracies! Also, this IS AU which means that Peter has got a fairly good control of his powers AND it's Christmas time.

Please enjoy and many thanks to those of you who have either sent me a message or reviewed the last chapter!

* * *

"Well it _said_ left!" Nathan harrumphed as he set down onto the snow-covered path, Peter landing a little less gracefully behind him. His little brother took a deep breath and prepared himself for the predictable onslaught:

"I'm sure it said _right_, Nathan." He hopped back a step as his older brother whirled on him, thrusting the little battery-powered plastic box under his nose like the evidence of some horrific crime the young man was supposed to have committed.

"Who's got the Sat-Nav, huh?" he demanded, shaking it pointedly and more than likely loosening a few connections.

"You do," Peter admitted, patiently.

It wasn't worth his life to argue. It had been on Nathan's insistence that they had taken it out of the car in the first place. Peter had been convinced that somehow, mysteriously, they would simply _know_ where to go. After all, if they were _meant_ to do this, then something would come along to give them a helping hand. Nathan didn't believe in helping hands, however and it wasn't long before he had cannibalised the interior of his car.

"Right then," his brother finished, triumphantly, straightening the collar of his coat. "So don't argue with me. Look in that sack again and read the address."

Peter reached down into the depths of the sack and withdrew a shiny, neatly wrapped rectangular gift. Dangling down from the middle of the ribbon, tied around the outside was a glittering tag. He read the writing upon it aloud. "Macy Grimble, 1003, Gilmore Street." They both looked about themselves.

"Is this Gilmore Street?" Peter asked, a touch uncertainly, zipping his coat up further under his chin to fight off the cold. All the houses looked identical and continued on a little way up the street. In fact, the entire street seemed to comprise of no more than sixty houses.

Nathan glared at him – he did not enjoy his navigational skills being called into question. "Of course it is!" he snapped, offended. "Just look out for the right one." Peter complied, jogging on down to the end of the little road and then back to Nathan.

"Well?"

"Uh, the end house number says sixty-six."

"Then look again," he insisted, firmly.

"It's sixty-six, Nathan!" Peter replied, exasperatedly. "There's no denying it. You could turn it upside down and make it ninety-nine but either way you're still nine hundred and four houses short. Face it, Nathan – this is _not_ it."

Nathan scowled, heavily, advancing on Peter step by step and jabbing a finger into his chest as he spoke.

"Listen, Peter: right now I am supposed to be at home, in a warm bed, lying next to my wife and waiting for my kids to wake up and start screaming through the house. I do NOT need to be second-guessed by my trigger-happy baby brother! Now, I am older than you, I'm smarter than you and I'm a God damned _Congressional candidate_ and I will NOT have you telling me I'm wrong!!"

* * *

Twenty minutes later, having turned left and headed back in the opposite direction they arrived at Macy Grimble's. Nathan was no longer speaking to Peter and made sure his unfortunate younger sibling was the one to climb through the ground-floor window of the house, gleefully ignoring the 'Beware of the Dog' sign. However, after two minutes of silence coming from the house, Nathan became nervous and climbed in after him anyway.

He found Peter gazing admiringly at the Christmas tree and quickly smacked him round the back of the head, to gain his attention. The young man swivelled round and shot a hand up to the back of his head, rubbing the sore spot with irritation. It quickly melted away, however.

"Isn't that a nice tree, Nate?" he wondered aloud. "They've even made the decorations for it – look."

"I don't want to look, Peter!" he hissed back, glancing round the darkened house to ensure no one was approaching. "Just drop the wretched present and let's get out of here before someone comes. Do you have any idea what will happen to my political career if I'm found breaking in to someone's house?"

Obligingly, Peter carefully placed the gift under the tree and stood up, admiring the finished product until his brother tugged sharply at his elbow, yanking him towards the window.

"Hold up, Nathan," he protested. "We have to take the mince pies and drink the milk…"

Alas, Nathan was not so inclined and, after cursing mildly, shoved his little brother out of the window until he landed on the ground below in a heap of arms and legs.

As soon as he had followed, he dug around in the sack for the next gift, checked the directions, input them into the machine then set off into the air. Realising he would have no way of knowing where to go on his own, Peter quickly shot up after him in a somewhat shakier manner.

"You know," Peter shouted as they flew. "If you would only have agreed to wear the suit, it wouldn't look so bad if you were caught."

From across the starry sky, Nathan's incredulous look could have felled mountains. "Okay, _firstly_ Peter, if I had indeed been caught breaking and entering the chances of my reputation being _less_ tarnished by the fact that I would have been dressed like Santa Claus is, let's say, slim to none."

He saw his brother begin to object and so continued, swiftly on. "And _secondly_ there is no way in this candyfloss world you seem to inhabit, that I was ripping the clothes of a dead man's back! You're lucky enough I'm freezing my ass off up here and risking political ruin and public humiliation."

Peter closed his mouth. Not only was he starting to catch flies but he also didn't have an argument for that one. Instead, he pointed to the ground beneath them. "There's the next one on the list."

Wearily, Nathan sighed but nonetheless began his descent-path, praying to any deity who happened to be listening, that the next house would have something a little stronger than milk and cookies.

* * *

His back was aching, his toes were freezing and he was just about ready to drop. Thirty-three houses were crossed off the list and only -he glanced down at the list - twelve more to go. _I can do this_, he kept repeating over and over to himself. _Be strong. _

Peter, rather annoyingly, was _not_ cold, nor was he aching all over, nor was he ready to fall asleep on his feet. In fact, his exuberance was almost overwhelming and had Nathan ready to string him up with the next set of Christmas lights they came across.

He all but skipped round people's trees, depositing packages left, right and centre and bounded from house to house. He had also grown more confident in flying and had taken, much to Nathan's chagrin, to performing aeronautical acrobatics, looping the loop and zooming past in low fly-bys over people's roof-tops until Nathan had threatened to permanently ground him. He wasn't sure what his brother intended by that but he didn't want to find out, either so he resumed flying next to the elder Petrelli.

In short, however, Peter was having the time of his life. It was fair to say his older brother was not.

Currently they were standing in one of the final houses on the list. It was late, it was freezing and more importantly, the end was almost in sight. If Nathan ever saw another stocking or tree again, he was liable to lose it but for now, he just wanted to deposit the present at hand.

Reaching in to the sack, he had pulled out an extremely large box, with air holes punched in to the side. The box was wriggling madly in his arms as the small puppy inside anxiously tried to be put down on level ground. Already Nathan's thoughts had turned to the next house, willing the night to be over.

"Wait a second, Nathan." He turned and looked at his sibling, exasperation masking his already worn features.

"_What_, Peter? What could _possibly_ be wrong now?" Peter was looking at him with those large, sad, glassy eyes – wearing much the same expression Nathan imagined the wriggling puppy in the box was currently wearing. But more endearing. He wanted to slap it off, he really did.

Peter's soulful eyes shone with unbridled concern. "A dog is for _life_, Nathan, not just for Christmas."

"Ah, Pete!" Nathan started, flinging one hand into the air whilst simultaneously trying to balance the squirming cardboard-box under one arm. The puppy in question started to whine and whimper at all the commotion. "It's not our concern what happens to this damned thing once it's delivered! We just tick it off the list and stick it by the fire." He watched as Peter's expression turned pallid for a moment.

"I said _by_ the fire, not _on _it, genius."

But Peter was shaking his head, stubbornly. "I can't abide cruelty to animals, Nate – you know that."

"How do _you_ know this kid is going to be _cruel_ to it?" Nathan whispered, furiously. "_You_ asked for a puppy every year till you started High School – were _you_ planning on dumping it in a plastic bag on the side of the road?" Peter's eyes widened in shock and he shook his head, vigorously.

"Well there you go then," the elder man finished, triumphantly. "Point made – now can we please go?" Nathan all but dropped the box on the floor. Peter, however, did not move.

"I can read his thoughts while he's sleeping," he insisted, firmly. "He's going to get bored with it after a while. That's why his parents wouldn't get him one."

"Yeah and that's another thing I don't get," Nathan continued. "Where the hell do these parents think this dog is going to have come from? I mean, why do Heidi and I not come down every Christmas morning and wonder where those two extra presents for Monty and Simon came from?" This seemed to have the young man stumped for a moment. He closed his mouth and thought for a little while. Presently, he announced:

"Magic." Nathan groaned and rolled his eyes. "No, I'm serious Nathan. I think it must be some kind of memory or impression, planted in the minds of one or both of the parents to make them think that _they_ bought the gifts." Nathan's expression was at once both disbelieving and horrified.

"So we've been under some kind of festive mind-control for the last nine years?"

"It's the only thing that makes sense." Nathan just shook his head – he could feel a migraine coming on and it was barely five o'clock. The next house on the list had better have some friggin brandy out there with the cookies.

"Look, whatever you may believe, Peter you're the one who talked about this grand scheme of things and how everything happens for a reason. And if that's the case, then this dog is obviously _meant_ to be in this house. Yes?" He could see his little brother, reluctantly nod his head, causing his hair to flop over his eyes. He looked all of twelve years old, Nathan thought irritably.

"Right then," he concluded, with an air of finality, "we are not taking this flea-bitten mutt home. We let Fate play out. Now move!" Very reluctantly, still doubtful, Peter did as instructed.

* * *

It was done – finished, over! As Nathan soared above the housetops, the beginnings of a grin started to creep across his face for the first time that night – heck, since the day before it, too! Every pesky present in that sack had been delivered to every pesky child on the list. Peter was still ridiculously giddy and excited as he flew alongside him but Nathan couldn't begrudge him that anymore. The politician had to admit (but _only _to himself and _never_ to his sibling) that there had been something…rewarding in the task they had just completed. Disturbing, yes; inconvenient, most definitely; marginally thrill-seeking…well, possibly. But, underneath it all, surprisingly rewarding.

With gentle thuds, the two brothers set down in the back garden, looking around them at the place where it had all begun. Peter appeared a little wistful, a little sad.

"I suppose it's all over now," he commented sadly, looking up towards the twinkling sky alive with magic in the air.

"Yup," Nathan agreed, laying an arm across the boy's shoulders. The sadness in his voice was harder to detect but Peter liked to think it was hidden in there, somewhere. Peter turned his head to look his brother in the eye.

"So what do you think will happen next year?"

"_Next _year?!" Nathan repeated. "Peter, _next year_ we are not going to have anything to do with this!"

"But…" Peter protested, "what's going to happen to all the…"

"Young man, _next year_," a deep, jolly and booming voice interrupted from behind them, "_I_ will take over my job as I have done for many, _many_ years." A reverberating, hearty chuckle echoed around them as both brothers jumped in shock and spun around to face the voice.

Peter's jaw dropped in delighted wonder. Nathan's face achieved a shade of white to rival even the snow on the ground.

"You," Peter began, eyes wide with disbelief, "You…you're _not dead_!"

The bearded saint let out a merry bellow till his little round belly shook with the peels of laughter. Trudging carefully across the snow, the old man clapped Peter on the shoulder.

"Dead? _Me_? Of course not, my dear boy. I haven't survived all this _long _time to be felled quite so easily." He held his arms out wide to indicate his very whole and very unharmed status.

Peter's face fell a little and he glanced up, guiltily. "I'm really sorry about before – I didn't mean it."

Santa patted him affectionately on the back. "Of course you didn't."

"B…but…" Nathan sputtered from beside them. "But you were _dead_." He turned away from the happily chatting pair, shaking his head in a gesture of horrified disbelief.

Peter was still grinning like an idiot. "But why did you do it?" he asked, curiously.

"I could see," the old man began, wisely, "that you needed to realise the true potential of your gifts and the joy they could bring to others and that your brother needed to embrace the _charity _buried not so very deep, in his heart." He turned his beaming little eye on Nathan.

"You sick, _twisted _son of a…"

"So you just _pretended_," Peter concluded with an air of final understanding, hitherto only found in the summation of a _Scooby-Doo_ episode. He smiled, enthusiastically. "Well, it really worked! I've never had such a good Christmas Eve and I'm sure my brother agrees with me."

"_Buried_ you!" Nathan was muttering to himself, his eyes shining darkly, "I dug a hole and buried you in my own damned back-yard!" Finally, he looked up at the red-suited saint, his expression murderous.

It was time to wrap this up, Peter decided. "Well, I'm really glad I didn't kill you and thank you for tonight. Will we ever see you again?"

The old saint grinned, mischievously and tapped the side of his nose, knowingly. "Time will tell, Peter – time will tell. Now," he announced, taking his sack from Peter's hands. "I must to my sleigh! The day is almost upon us. Goodbye Peter!" He waved his jolly, gloved hand and Peter stepped back from him, waving in return.

"Goodbye, Nathan," he rumbled, as he began to rise slowly into the air.

"You need help, old man – I swear to God you need to get some help. And if I ever see you around here again, so help me…"

But in the twinkling of an eye, the saint had disappeared into the night. Peter felt a warm comforting sensation in his stomach as he watched the starry skies where the old gentleman had been. He sighed contentedly and turned to his brother.

"Now aren't you glad you came downstairs tonight to see what all the noise was about? Just look at the adventure would have missed if you hadn't?" Nathan could manage nothing more than to glare darkly at him and start pulling him, roughly, towards the backdoor.

But as his fingers grazed the handle, a distant jingling of bells from overhead caught their attention and Peter stopped dead in his tracks and lifted his face to heavens. A far-off booming voice could be heard echoing across the stars.

"A Merry Christmas to all and to all, a …"

"_Spare me_," the politician muttered, shoving his brother inside and slamming the door.

* * *

Though the hours had been few, Peter and Nathan had slept well and Heidi laughed to see the exuberance in her young brother-in-law and the somewhat less grumpy manner apparent in her husband. She did wonder at how exhausted he was but Peter had cut in and assured her it was merely the excitement of Christmas that had done it. She never did see the scowl.

With the last of the gifts unwrapped and both Simon and Monty having rushed upstairs to begin playing with their new toys, the adults relaxed back around the tree, content to let the excitement of the morning die down before lunch was served.

The brandy had been opened early, at Nathan's insistence, and they were all now enjoying a small tipple before eating.

"Peter?" It was Heidi who had spoken. She was peering under the tree.

"Yes?" The young man was sprawled out on the floor, leaning against the couch, where he had been all morning, helping his nephews to unwrap their presents. He now looked up to his sister-in-law. Heidi wheeled her chair a little closer to the tree.

"There's another gift here," she remarked. "Right back there – under the tree. From the looks of the label, I think it's for you."

"Really?" Peter asked, excitement evident in his voice. He was never too old to get excited over presents, particularly extra ones that came as a surprise.

"Yes," she exclaimed. "And it's beautifully wrapped and tied."

Nathan's previously resting eyes now shot open.

Eagerly, Peter scrambled on his hands and knees to crawl under the tree where indeed, a large, brightly wrapped cardboard box was waiting. Hooking on to it, he carefully dragged it out into the open so that it was sitting in the middle of the carpet.

He sat back on his haunches and lifted the tag. He read it aloud:

_Dear Peter,_

_Everything happens for a reason. _

_Happy Christmas!_

He exchanged a startled look with Nathan who was now leaning forwards, suspiciously, from the couch.

"That's funny," Heidi remarked, coming to get a closer look at the box. "There are holes along the outside."

Instantly, Peter's eyes lit up and he ripped the paper off, tearing off the lid and throwing it to the floor.

"Oh no," Nathan was saying, shaking his head, firmly. But it was no use. The wriggling golden-haired puppy was already in his brother's arms, licking the boy's face and yapping excitedly. Its little tail was thumping the carpet in pure pleasure.

"Peter, we can't," he began to say.

"Oh, Nathan!" Heidi cut in. "How thoughtful of you! He's _adorable _and just wait until the boys see him!"

"But…" he protested, weakly, watching as his little brother now rolled on the floor with the thing, tickling it and laughing out loud. But his wife interrupted him once more by wrapping her arms around him and planting a long, slow kiss on his lips.

Eventually, she let him come up for air and he did so with a look of pleasant, shocked surprise. She leaned in to his ear as she whispered. "This is going to be a very _good_ Christmas." And he leaned back, drew her closer to him and smiled.

Maybe it would be, but next year he would spend it well _away _from Peter.

* * *

The End and _Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year_ to one and all!

Thanks for seeing this little ficlet through to the end – please let me know what you thought of this one!

Review Replies:

_**HeroesBonesSNPB**_ – thanks for the review – glad you liked it!

_**Angelcordyforever**_– yeah, I think Nathan would have been a little less understanding with him if Peter had hit Claire or one of the boys! lol – thanks for the review!

_**Marinawings**_ – thanks for your lovely review – I'm really glad you enjoyed it! I hope you liked this part, too.

_**Dreamer**_– why thank you for the kind compliments- I do love writing those brothers. Chapter 9 of Fourteen Days is up but I'm still working on chapter 10 – hope you enjoy what I have to offer!

_**Swordy**_– yup, Nathan must be tapped out on favours and phone calls by the time this series is over. Hope you enjoyed and thanks for the review.

_**Petrelli-Otaku**_ – thanks for your review – I'm really glad you liked chapter one and I hope the last part doesn't disappoint. And in case you didn't get my PM, the brothers are meant to be the same age they were in season 1 – it's AU so I kind of just made it Christmas time even though it didn't fit in to the original time scale.

_**Essenze**_ – Merry Christmas to you, too! Thanks for the review and the one on Fourteen Days – I don't really want Peter to change too much, either. He's too sweet as he is. And yes, Nathan will definitely need a stiff drink by the time Peter's finished leaving destruction in his wake!

_**Shaolin Queen**_ – Thanks for taking the time to review. I'm glad you can picture their antics clearly! Hope you enjoyed this.

_**TheDirtySouth**_– Cheers! I'm very flattered. I hope you liked this part.

_**Teoryn**_ – Well, we shall have to be crazy together! lol – And yes, only Peter could come up with this little scheme but Nathan's always foolish enough to involve himself in it – he should know by now to leave well enough alone.


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